Lynnette Kent - Abby's Christmas

“Maybe. Thanks, anyway.” Cradling the dog against his chest, Noah got to his feet. “You’ve been a big help.”

He intended to go, and take the dog with him. They would both disappear from her life. After the way Noah had acted, she should be glad. But…

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

He’d reached the door between the kitchen and the hallway. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“Hot chocolate?”

Noah stopped and turned back. “That’s a low blow.”

“Does it work?”

“As long as your dad won’t come in and yell at me.”

Abby closed the doors to the hall and to the dining room. “He’ll never know you’re here. Have a seat at the table. This’ll just take a second.”

Noah set the dog on the floor and took a chair. He observed the kitchen while she worked. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he said, “Let me guess—your favorite color is red.”

She grinned as she poured milk and cream into the chocolate mixture. “Can’t put anything over on you.”

“Red pots and pans, red-checked curtains, red apples on the table and a red rug on the floor. I’d have to be pretty dense.”

“Red dishes, too,” she pointed out, taking two big mugs out of a cabinet. “Add green napkins and I’m all decorated for Christmas.”

When the chocolate started to simmer, she moved the saucepan off the burner and poured the beverage into the cups. She handed him a mug, then sat across the table with her own. The dog settled between them on the red rug, his chin resting on one outstretched paw.

Noah took a sip of chocolate. “You sure do work miracles—this is even better than the stuff you made the other day.”

“At home, I can use expensive chocolate and cream. At the diner, I have to remember cost control.”

“It’s worth the price. Maybe you could put Abby’s Special Hot Chocolate on the menu and charge more.”

She shook her head. “Charlie’s pretty rigid about keeping prices down. He’s the boss.”

“So open your own place. Charge anything you want.”

“And compete with the Carolina Diner? I don’t think so.”

“You’ll just stick with the status quo?”

“I haven’t been offered any other options.” Beside them, the windowpane rattled in the wind. Abby glanced down at the dog. “It’s a cold night to take him out on the motorcycle. He doesn’t have too much hair.”

“I brought the backpack. He’ll be warm enough.”

“And he still doesn’t have a name.”

“No.” Noah stared down at the mutt. “Spot?”

She huffed in frustration. “He doesn’t have spots.”

“So?”

“A dog’s name is supposed to mean something. Everybody’s name should mean something.”

“Who says?”

“I do.” Holding her mug with both hands, she closed her eyes. “Loner? Ranger?”

“The Lone Ranger?” He grinned at her disgusted stare. “Why make such a big deal? Call him Harry.”

“But he’s not. How about Scruffy?”

“I’m not hanging around with a Scruffy.”

“I don’t see you hanging around with him at all.”

Noah glared at her over the top of his mug, then took a long swig, effectively hiding his face. They dropped the argument long enough to enjoy the hot chocolate, and Abby gathered the courage to ask a question.

“So tell me…where have you been for the last decade or so, anyway?”

“Around.” He set the drink on the table, pushing the handle of his mug with the pointer finger of one hand to the other, and back again.

When she didn’t say anything, he seemed to realize he hadn’t given enough of an answer. “Atlanta, mostly, for the last few years.”

“What do you do?”

“Do?”

She slapped her palm on the table. At their feet, the dog jumped and sat up. “You’re infuriating! You have to eat, right? What do you do to earn money?”

He chuckled at her temper tantrum. “Calm down, Abigail. I’ve worked a lot of different jobs over the years. Landscaping, moving furniture, construction, restaurant work—”

“Really? What kind?”

Noah gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Short-order cook, maître d’, dishwasher, waiter. I did some sous-chef work at one place in Florida, but didn’t stay long enough to get anywhere.”

“You’ve been to Florida? And Georgia. Where else?”

When he shook his head, she insisted. “Come on, Noah, tell me where all you’ve traveled. I’ve been stuck in this little town since the day I was born, and as far as I can tell, I’ll be here till I die. But I love hearing about other people’s adventures.”

Still, Noah hesitated. Abby didn’t really want to know about the majority of the adventures he’d had—too many low-rent apartments and bar fights, too much experience with the police and the prison system, too few good meals to eat and good people to talk to. Wherever he’d been, he hadn’t spent time on the right side of the tracks.

But he tried to give her what she wanted. “I hitched my way to California when I left here. Learned to surf and do some in-line skating.” The entire two years had passed in an alcoholic haze. “Then I went to Wyoming and learned to ski at Jackson Hole. I was a lift operator for a season.” He pretended to shiver. “Talk about cold.”

“I can’t imagine that much snow. And the Rocky Mountains—are they just spectacular?”

Somehow, she got him to describe what he’d seen of the Rockies…and Hawaii, where he’d only been able to afford a couple of months. He had stuff to tell about New York, Chicago, Dallas and San Antonio, too.

“And yeah, I have been overseas,” he said finally, getting to his feet. “But it’s after midnight and I need my beauty sleep. I’ll just take the mutt and go on back to my mom’s.”

“Wait.” Abby put her hand out as he bent to pick up the dog. “I—I feel bad about deceiving your mother.”

Noah straightened up, leaving the dog on the floor. “You wouldn’t be. Don’t worry about it.”

“But—” She grabbed his arm and held on tight. “Noah, why did you come home?”

“I…” He glanced away, rubbing a palm over his chin. “What difference does it make?”

“Because if you came to make peace with your mom, sneaking a dog into the house is not the way to go about it.”

He put his palm over her fingers where she clutched him. “Abigail, this isn’t your problem.”

Her hand turned, linking their fingers. “I’d…like to see you stay around. For…a while.”

Dangerous words. Her gold-green gaze searched his face, and Noah didn’t know what to say.

The next moment became even more dangerous, as Abby stood, stepped closer and brought the fingertips of her free hand to his cheek. She tilted her face up, looking at him through half-lowered lashes. “Would that be so bad?”

“I—” Resisting temptation had never been one of his strong points. The sane half of his brain fired every possible weapon of logic in an attempt to keep things from going any further. But Noah touched his mouth to Abby’s, and sanity popped like a soap bubble on the point of a pin.

She filled his arms sweetly, her generous breasts soft against his chest, her back supple and warm under his hands. Her kisses invited anything he chose to give, and Noah explored the entire spectrum, from tender to harsh, innocent to erotic, testing, playing…hell, resurrecting feelings he thought he’d killed years ago.

He came back to consciousness with one hand tangled in Abby’s hair and one hand under her shirt, cupping her breast, while he could feel both of her hands gripping his butt.

“Abigail.” He closed his mouth, settled for a few more innocent kisses, managed to drag his lips across her cheek, into her hair and finally away. “Not smart. Not smart at all.”